


A Perfect Shot

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Pining, bowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22304080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: For Karen: Barba bowling with the squad :)
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	A Perfect Shot

“Barba. Barba!” Benson exclaimed, her face lighting at the sight of him.

He hesitated in her office doorway, caught off guard. “Yes,” he confirmed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. There was no way an unexpected visit in the middle of a workday warranted that level of excitement.

Rollins and the new officer, Kat, were standing in the middle of the room, looking at him. He crossed his arms over his chest, holding Benson’s stare.

“Bowling,” she said. Her tone suggested he should be following along despite the fact he’d arrived moments ago.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Trigonometry,” he returned.

She smiled and rounded her desk, pointing at him. “Didn’t you say you used to bowl on a team with your mom and grandma?”

“I also wet the bed once when I was ten, life isn’t all shining moments.”

“Only once?” Rollins asked.

“How’d you like to break out the pretty shoes?” Benson said.

“Do they make tailored bowling shirts?” Rollins added.

“All my shoes are pretty,” Barba said, ignoring Rollins. “You looking to start a new hobby…?”

“We’ve been getting together twice a month, having some friendly competitions.”

“Competition is never friendly.”

“Two teams of four, usually cops, but now that Carisi is—”

“Moving up in the world.”

“Slumming it,” Rollins said at the same time.

“—at the DA’s, we rotated Officer Tamin into his spot.”

“Poor Carisi.”

“Well, he put together a team of four so we could have a friendly cop-lawyer match.”

“Again, not friendly.”

“But the game’s tonight and someone just dropped out, we’re one player short.”

Barba glanced around at the three women, all of them staring back at him. “I’m not a cop,” he reminded them slowly.

“No, no,” Benson said, waving a hand. “It’s us three and Fin. You’d be on Carisi’s team, one of the lawyers canceled.”

“Hmm,” he said, annoyed by the unwelcome stab of disappointment. “Tempting, but I do have plans tonight.”

“Watering your cactus?” Rollins suggested.

“Re-grouting the bathroom,” he deadpanned.

Rollins and Kat laughed. Benson smiled, but he could see the disappointment in her eyes. She’d lit up at the sight of him, and now the light had dimmed. “Oh, well, maybe another time,” she said.

He was speaking before he knew what was happening: “I can rearrange. What time?”

Her smile brightened, filling his chest with warmth. “Seven.”

* * *

“You brought your own ball and shoes?” Rollins asked, eyeing the bag.

“Do you have any idea how many sweaty feet have been shoved into each pair of rental shoes?” Barba returned.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s part of the fun of bowling, Barba.”

“Not to mention the fingers stuck in those holes…”

“Afraid of boogers?” she asked.

He looked past her and smiled, tipping his chin up in greeting, when Benson turned and spotted him. “Hey,” he said when the captain walked over.

“Thanks for doing this,” Benson said, touching her hand to his arm. “You obviously know Carisi and Langan, do you know Isaiah Holmes?”

“We’ve met.”

“Then I won’t introduce you.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything else Carisi was beside him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Rafael! Come on, I’ve got your shirt.”

“My shirt?”

Benson’s smile was sympathetic.

Carisi steered Barba toward their lane. “Yeah, team shirts.”

Barba nodded in greeting to Langan and Holmes before looking at the blue and white shirt Carisi was holding up. “Blue-Eyed Bowlers?” he asked, reading the stitched lettering across the back.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Carisi said. His smile was sheepish. “Made these up before we knew you’d be subbing. Also…” He turned the shirt around so Barba could see the name on the chest: _Ruth_.

“Was Ginsburg supposed to be here?”

“You always wanted to be a judge, right?” Carisi joked. “Sorry,” he repeated, “but I’m pretty sure it’ll fit.” He shuffled his feet. “You, uh…you don’t have to wear it.”

Barba looked at Carisi, Langan, and Holmes, each in their matching shirts with their names— _Sonny,_ _Trevor, Isaiah_ —on the front. Benson’s team had matching shirts, too, in yellow and white. Barba sighed and grabbed the shirt from Carisi’s hands. “At least it’ll match my shoes,” he muttered, turning to sit in a chair. He flopped the shirt over his shoulder and set the heavy bag on his lap, unzipping the side to pull out his bowling shoes.

He froze, staring into the bag. He felt his stomach drop and he cursed himself for not checking the bag before leaving his apartment.

“Uh, Rafael, I hate to tell you but those ain’t blue.”

“Thank you, Carisi,” Barba snapped, pulling the shoes partway out of the bag. They were pink and glittered in the light.

Kat whistled. Rollins said, “Wow, Barba, when Liv said to bring the _pretty_ shoes, I didn’t realize—”

“I asked my mother to send my stuff to the apartment. She obviously sent the wrong bag,” he said. Heat was creeping up his neck and he hated it. Langan and Fin were laughing.

“I like ‘em,” Rollins said.

“Hey, Amanda, go easy on him,” Carisi said, holding a hand in her direction. “He’s doin us a favor, filling in.”

“I mean it,” she answered. “Those are the sparkliest shoes I’ve ever seen. Jesse would kill for a pair.”

“Those might be about her size,” Carisi said, peering at the shoes. “You’ve got big feet for a guy your height, no way those’ll—”

“I wasn’t going to wear them.” Barba glared up at him.

“Oh.”

“Barba, I’ve gotta get my shoes, still. I’ll grab you a pair, what size are you?” Langan said.

Barba sighed. “Eleven.”

“Really?” Langan asked, and his disbelieving tone made Barba grit his teeth. “Okay. Back in a minute.”

Barba pushed to his feet and put the bag in the seat before heading toward the bathroom. He caught Benson’s eyes and offered a smile, shrugging. He supposed it was funny, really. Besides, he’d only agreed to this match as a favor to her. He had no desire to make her miserable in the process.

When he came out of the bathroom wearing his team shirt, with his polo draped over his arm, Langan was standing close to Benson with his head bent toward her, and she was laughing at whatever he was saying. Kat and Fin were also laughing at something between themselves. Carisi, Rollins, and Holmes were huddled together while Carisi told some story that apparently required a lot of gesticulation.

Barba walked over, doing his best to ignore the burn in his gut at the sight of Langan and Benson flirting. Langan had his hand on her back, but he caught sight of Barba approaching and straightened.

“Oh, they didn’t have any elevens left. Is ten alright?”

Barba glanced at the shoes sitting in his chair beside the bag. “Fine,” he muttered. At least they were blue.

“They won’t hurt your feet, will they?” Benson asked, stepping away from Langan so she could turn toward Barba. “We could get a bigger size.”

“These are fine,” Barba said. He grimaced as he picked them up. “They’re probably stretched out, anyway.”

“You’re up first,” Carisi told him.

“Good luck, Ruth,” Rollins called as she headed back to her team’s lane.

Barba looked up at the screens, relieved to see he was listed as _Rafael_. He looked over at Benson’s team monitor. _The Squad_. He smiled at the name. Benson was up first for her team.

Barba switched his shoes; the rentals were a little snug but not unbearable, and he did his best not to think about what filth must be lurking inside them. He unzipped the top of his bag, and he wasn’t surprised to see the glittery pink ball. He rolled his shoulders and pulled the ball out, rising to his feet to head toward the lane.

The weight wasn’t bad. He could work with it.

“Nice stance, Counsellor!” Kat called.

“You learn that from a bowling magazine?” Rollins asked.

Barba ignored them. They wouldn’t be laughing in a few seconds. He made his approach, swiveled, drew back, released with perfect follow-through…

He turned his back on the ball to saunter back to his seat; he didn’t have to see it to know he’d rolled a strike, and he didn’t bother trying to hide his smirk as his teammates watched the ball hit its target and send the pins flying.

“Yes!” Carisi yelled. He pointed at Rollins. “You’re going _down_!” he exclaimed, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Nice,” Holmes said, patting Barba on the back.

“You do that every time?” Langan asked.

“All night long,” Barba answered, watching Benson grab her ball. 

“Good luck,” Langan told her.

“She doesn’t need it,” Barba said. She flashed him a smile he couldn’t help but return.

Benson was precisely as methodical as Barba would’ve predicted. She took her time, she lined up her shot, she executed perfectly, and she started her team off with a strike.

In fact, everyone bowled pretty much as Barba expected:

Carisi was the worst. He seemed to be all flailing limbs and slipping feet and rarely knocked down more than half the pins in a turn. He made up for his poor scores by tirelessly cheerleading everyone—even the opposing team—and having an infectious amount of fun.

Rollins was decent but might bowl better if she spent more time concentrating on her game and less time heckling everyone else. Holmes was good, although Barba doubted the man had ever been bowling in his life. He had a natural grace and nonchalance that made his pitches look easy. 

Fin was even more laid-back than Holmes, although not quite as accurate with his throws. Langan tried too hard and his aim suffered for it, but he managed to keep an above-average score. Kat was unpredictable; she had good strength, and good form, but she was impatient and impulsive and didn’t strategize. She was as likely to hit a gutter as she was a strike.

Benson and Barba led their teams in score, and he found himself wishing more than once that they were on the same team. He wanted to win so badly he could taste it, and he knew that she wouldn’t be a sore loser.

But, as had been the case for as long as he’d known her, he wanted her to win, too. He always wanted her to win.

He didn’t want Trevor Langan to win, which was a problem since he was on Barba’s team. Langan certainly seemed more concerned with wandering over to flirt with Benson than the game, and Barba couldn’t help imagining what might happen if he pitched his mother’s pink bowling ball toward the man’s ridiculously-long legs. Accidentally, of course.

“Come on, Raf, you got this!” Carisi shouted, drawing Barba out of his thoughts. Barba got his ball, casting only the briefest of sideways glances toward Langan’s ankles before earning his team another strike. Carisi whistled and clapped him on the shoulder, and Barba had to smile at the man’s enthusiasm. Carisi grabbed his ball and looked over at Rollins, who was up for her team. “Ladies first,” he said.

“The hell does that mean?” Kat asked, and Barba caught the look on Benson’s face: the indulgent smile of a parent watching her kids bicker good-naturedly. If they got mean, she would step in, but they wouldn’t get mean. Barba was surrounded by good people. _Benson’s_ people—with the exception of Holmes, but he was as good as people came.

Even Langan, as much as Barba didn’t want to admit it, was one of the good guys.

Barba was honored to be among them.

He clapped and whistled for Carisi when the former detective knocked down a total of eight pins in two rolls, and there was no mockery in his cheering. Carisi grinned and shrugged and walked over to Barba while Holmes and Fin got ready.

“You come with me?” Carisi asked Barba, gesturing toward the concessions counter with a jerk of his head.

“Sure,” Barba said, glancing toward Benson and Langan. Langan had folded his lanky body into a chair beside Benson and was leaned close to talk to her. Barba suppressed a sigh and turned to keep step with Carisi as they headed toward the short line at the counter.

“Hey, Barba, you mind if I ask you somethin?”

“You can’t have the shoes. They’re my mother’s,” Barba said, and Carisi chuckled beside him. “Besides, they’ll never fit. You have big feet…for a guy your height.” He raised his eyebrows.

Carisi ducked his head. “Sorry about that,” he said.

Barba patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. What’s on your mind, Counsellor?”

“Huh,” Carisi said, shooting him an endearingly-bright smile. “Feels good hearing that from you.” He glanced back toward the lanes. Rollins and Kat were headed to the restroom together, and Langan was still chatting up Benson, in no apparent hurry to take his turn. Fin was getting his ball.

Holmes was standing alone, with one hip cocked, looking down at his phone.

“Yes,” Barba said, and Carisi turned to look at him. Barba smiled. “Yes, you should ask him out.”

Carisi flushed with impressive speed. “I don’t think I can do that,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking onto his heels. “I was just, uh…wondering if you think it’s too obvious if I, like…buy him some nachos or somethin without getting anything for Langan? I mean, he won’t notice, he’s all about Liv for some reason—”

“For some reason,” Barba muttered.

“I mean, she’s not interested in him like that.”

Barba didn’t comment on that, and resisted the urge to look back again. “You want to buy him food so he likes you but you don’t want him to know you want him to like you?”

“God,” Carisi laughed, scratching at the back of his head. “Pathetic, huh?”

“Sonny,” Barba said. He turned to face him. “Trust me, you don’t have to try so hard. You’re the most likeable guy on the planet, even when you’re being an annoying little shit—which is frequent.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Did you invite him here tonight?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“You think he _likes_ bowling?”

“I dunno,” Carisi said, hunching his shoulders. “He’s way better’n me.”

“I hope you’re only talking about the bowling.” When Carisi didn’t answer, Barba said, “He’s a good guy. Smart, hardworking, loyal, decent, attractive, funny. I’m only going to say this once and I’ll deny if you repeat it, but you’re all of those things, too. Take a fucking shot, or you’ll always regret what might’ve been.” His gaze slipped involuntarily toward Benson.

“Yeah?” Carisi asked, following Barba’s look. “So how many nachos are you buying, then?”

Barba turned his attention back to Carisi. “I thought you brought me over here to buy _me_ food,” he joked.

Carisi laughed. “That ship sailed,” he said.

“Mm. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re friends, right? I wanted more, you didn’t. Not your fault.”

“I should’ve been so lucky,” Barba said, and Carisi’s answering smile was sweet. “But you deserve someone like Isaiah.”

“Thanks, Rafael,” Carisi said, bumping his arm against Barba’s.

They stepped up to the counter and placed their orders, and two minutes later they were walking back toward the lanes. Langan had finally decided to take his turn, and Rollins and Kat were just emerging from the ladies’ room.

Barba stepped up beside Benson and slid an order of nachos onto the table in front of her. She looked up at him with a smile. “I’m guessing you had a salad for lunch because you don’t like anything heavy when you’re working,” he said. “And no time for dinner since you’re still wearing the same outfit aside from the snazzy shirt.”

“Takes one workaholic to recognize another,” she said.

He laughed and glanced over her head toward Rollins and Kat. “Don’t tell anyone I crossed enemy lines,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see nothin,” Fin piped up.

“Thanks, Rafa,” Benson said.

He felt his smile stiffen a bit when Langan walked over. “Ooh, food, good idea. How ‘bout I buy pizza?”

Barba looked over at Carisi and Holmes. Holmes had his head bent toward Carisi, and Carisi’s dimples were as deep as they could get. Barba couldn’t hear what the two men were saying, but things seemed to be going well—and they were set for food.

“Nachos look good,” Rollins said, eyeing Benson’s basket of food.

“Oh—sure,” Langan said. He seemed disappointed, and Barba studiously kept the smugness from his face. “Fin? Okay, four orders of nachos, coming up.”

“I guess it’s my turn,” Barba said.

“Shit, me, too,” Kat said, heading over to get her ball.

“Good luck,” Benson told Barba quietly. “Not that you need it.”

He winked just to make her laugh, and then walked over to get his next strike.

* * *

“All down to this round,” Langan said.

“That’s usually how it works,” Barba remarked. He wasn’t worried. Even with Carisi’s score, if Langan managed a decent roll then Barba was sure he and Holmes could pull off a victory for the team. It would be close, though.

“May the best team win,” Benson said.

“We will!” Kat answered.

“Hey, before we start this last round, let’s get team photos!” Carisi said. “Here,” he said, hurrying over to hold his phone out to Rollins. “Get the four of us, then I’ll take one of your team.” He sidled up next to Barba, and smiled shyly at Holmes when the latter stepped up beside Carisi. Langan moved to Barba’s other side.

“You wanna stand up, Barba?” Rollins asked, grinning when Barba rolled his eyes.

“Hilarious. Could we get this over with so I can go roll my last strike?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rollins laughed. “On the count of three, everyone say ‘lawyers suck.’” She snapped several photos in quick succession and handed the phone back to Carisi. While _The Squad_ gathered together for their picture, Barba walked over to the ball return.

He grabbed his pink ball and paused to focus.

“Hey, what do you say we make this a little more interesting?” Langan said.

“Interesting?” Benson answered.

“Sure. If you win, I take you out to dinner. If I win…you take me out to dinner.”

“What about the rest of us?” Fin asked. “We just part of the scenery, here?”

“Hey, I bought you nachos.” Then, to Benson: “What do you say? Dinner?”

“Pretty confident, huh?” she asked.

“For me it’s win-win,” Langan answered. “I win, I get a free meal. I lose, I still get to take you out.”

Barba did his best to tune them out.

“You got this, Raf,” Carisi told him.

“In the bag,” Holmes agreed.

Barba drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He made his approach, drew back, released…He stood and watched the ball spin across the wood, tracked the arc of its curve with his eyes, watched it crash into the pins and send them flying.

Five pins were left standing: numbers 4, 6, 7, 9, and 10.

_Greek Church_ , he thought a moment before he heard Benson say it aloud. He didn’t dare look over at her. There was silence from his team behind him, but not for long.

“Anyone can get this spare, it’s you,” Carisi called.

Barba studied the pins while he waited for his ball.

“Come on, Barba,” Langan said.

* * *

Holmes held the door for Carisi and touched a hand to his back as he passed. Carisi ducked his head and smiled at him, and Barba smiled at the sight of the two men leaving together. In spite of everything, Barba was genuinely happy for them. He’d meant what he said. They deserved each other.

Barba was putting on his own shoes and trying to act like he wasn’t hanging back to see if Benson and Langan were going to leave together. He looked up when she appeared beside him and immediately glanced around. He didn’t see Langan anywhere.

“Your choice of celebratory beverage?” she asked.

“To the victor go the drink selections,” he answered.

“Like I said.” She gave him a familiar look, the look that told him he’d never been able to fool her.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your last two shots were very impressive, Barba.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You mean my worst rolls of the whole night? You think that was impressive, you should’ve paid closer attention to the rest of the game.”

“I was paying attention,” she said quietly, and something in her voice sent a shiver of awareness down his spine. He got slowly to his feet so they were eye to eye. “Perfect stance, perfect release, almost perfectly on mark.”

“Almost?”

“And somehow…no strike for the first time all night.”

“It happens,” he said, shrugging. “Guess my arm was tired.”

“Really? Is that your final answer?”

“Maybe I figured you should at least get the free dinner.”

“He definitely would not have made me pay for my food. Even if you hadn’t thrown the game.”

“Now you won’t have to do the whole dance.”

“Dance?”

“You know. ‘No, no, the deal was I’d pay.’ ‘Now, Liv, I’m a gentleman, I could never allow—’”

“How long have you known me?”

“Ninety-six years?”

“You think I’d agree to go out with someone because of a wager?”

“If he’s six-five with blue eyes and a size thirteen shoe?” He laughed at the disgusted look she gave him. “Come on, Liv, you were flirting all night.”

“Hmm. You never were great at telling the difference between flirting and being friendly.”

He grimaced. “Ouch.”

“You want to admit to a little jealousy?”

“Not particularly.”

“You didn’t throw the game because you just…really wanted him to lose?”

“Alright, you got me. I was hoping they wouldn’t ask me to join them next time.”

“They can’t, you’re on our team from now on.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“We’ll negotiate over drinks. I don’t like to lose, Barba, and you bowled an almost-perfect game.”

“Almost,” he murmured with a small smile.

“You’re going to be our not-so-secret weapon. Besides, if I wrangle enough orders of nachos out of you, maybe you’ll finally realize how many meals we’ve shared.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping track. You still owe me for eight.” When she raised her eyebrows, he said, “Feminist icon, remember?”

She laughed at his cheeky smile, and said, “Guess I’d better work on catching up, then. Although I think you’re letting me off easy with eight.”

His smile softened. “What’re friends for?”

“You tell me.”

“Hmm.” He tipped his head without losing his smile. “Flirting?”

“Smartass.”

He considered. “I know it’s not competition. That’s—”

“—never friendly,” she finished in unison, and they grinned at each other.

“Well.” He paused and considered. “It’s a good thing I’m always rooting for you, then.”

“It’s a good thing we’re always on the same team,” she laughed, holding out an elbow.

He grabbed his bag and took her arm. “When do I get my new shirt?”


End file.
